


Hola Mamá

by crazychelseablue



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychelseablue/pseuds/crazychelseablue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various footballers write letters home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fernando

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another thing that I wrote but didn't really edit. Enjoy

Hola Mamá,  
How are you? I’ve missed you all these years. I love you. I do. You know that, don’t you? I’ve meant to come visit you, but I just can’t show my face back home. I can’t come home a disgrace, so I’m waiting to come home a hero. I can handle being laughed at in London, but I won’t come home until I’m someone you all can be proud of. That day will come, Mamá. I don’t know how long it will take, but It will come. I promise I’ll make everyone proud. I promise I’ll make you proud.

I know I’ve made some bad decisions. God, I know that. But there is no changing the past, so now I must live with my mistakes. I’m only human, Mamá. They just don’t seem to see that. I’m only human and I always have been. I was never a hero. Never a savior. Just a man who loves the sound of a ball hitting the back of a net. A man who loves the smell of grass and sweat and dirt and the roar of the crowd. A man who loves the looks on their faces when we win an impossible game, who lives for the way they jump up and down and hug and scream like there is no greater honour than to support their club. It’s been a long time since I’ve loved anything Mamá. A long time since I heard that sound, saw those faces, heard those songs. It’s been a long time since I’ve been happy.

It’s never too late for redemption, Mamá. You always taught me that. You can never fall so far that it’s impossible to get back up. “No one is beyond redemption, mijo. Mistakes do not define you.” That’s what you said to me. Those are the words that play in my mind every time I step onto the pitch. They have become the mantra of my existence.

I guess what I’m asking, Mamá, is if you’ll wait for me? Will you wait for the day when I can return, or will I come home to an empty house? Will I wander the streets of Madrid alone, a stranger, or will I walk them by your side, as your son? Will I be your lost son, finally returned, or will Israel be your only boy? Will you be proud of me someday, Mamá? Because I am proud to be your son.

-Tu Hijo


	2. Sergio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't tell, I've recently discovered the beauty of the semicolon. I probably used it wrong lol. I'm a disgrace to English majors everywhere.
> 
> Sorry this kind of really sucks.

Hola Mamá,  
How are you? I know it’s been too long. I tried to write, but couldn’t find the words to tell my sweet Mamá. I hope you realize that you’re behind every single thing I do. You’re my foundation and you always have been. I don’t tell you that enough. I have a family of my own now, and I want to raise my little boy with the same love and care with which you raised me.

Did I tell you he looks just like you? He has your eyes, your nose, your mouth; even his ears look just like yours. I pray every day that he is like you in more than just appearance. I pray he has your kindness, your gentleness, your honesty, your wisdom, your strength; but I also pray he has your smile, your voice, and your laugh. I hope he dances like you. I hope his fingers ghost across the keys of the piano like yours. I hope his hands can shape clay like yours can, and that he can create such beautiful things with mere brushstrokes across a canvass like you can. I hope that one day he will hold his own son with the same tenderness you did.

I hope that someday he’s as proud to be my son as I am to be yours. Mamá you are an angel from heaven. I could not have asked for a more wonderful woman to be raised by. You taught me everything. You taught me to be a good man, Mamá, and I thank God for you every day.

That’s not much like me, is it, Mamá? Thanking God. I never was the praying type, but now that I have a family of my own; I don’t know what else to do. I just feel so helpless, Mamá. I want to protect him, but there are so many things that I can’t protect him from. There are so many things that are out of my control. Is being a parent always this terrifying? Am I going to worry like this for the rest of my life? I never was the worrying type either, Mamá, but now it’s all I do.

I miss you, my sweet, wonderful Mamá. I miss you all the time. I miss Seville, too. I love Madrid, but sometimes I just miss those streets and the way the light hits the buildings. I miss the way the city looked as the sun set. I know that it’s the same sunset that we have here, but it just doesn’t feel the same. I’m talking nonsense now, Mamá, so I think it’s time I say goodbye. I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you soon.

-Tu Hijo


	3. Iker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I love Iker and he's done amazing things for both club and country. This letter does not reflect how I feel about him. (ik people get really defensive of Iker and I don't want anyone to get pissed at me)
> 
> PS. Ik this chapter is terrible but whatever

Hola Mamá,  
How are you? How are things back home? I hope no one has given you any trouble on my account.

I don’t know what to do, Mamá. I feel so useless. So helpless. It’s like I’m not even me anymore. I just wanted to be a man that you could be proud of, and a man that my son could be proud of. Now I’m nothing but a disgrace. The humiliation of Spain.

I don’t know what’s happened to me, Mamá. I just don’t understand. Is this really me? Is this really what I’ve become? Nothing but a washed up old man?

I’ve never been one to care what others think of me. I’ve always ignored the media and all those horrible things they say. But now, there’s one phrase that I just can’t seem to get out of my head. It haunts me. _The cracks in Iker Casillas suspected by Mourinho and Ancelotti have widened into fissures now._ That’s what they’re saying. Those words follow me wherever I go. I hear them in the back of my mind constantly. _The cracks in Iker Casillas suspected by Mourinho and Ancelotti have widened into fissures now._ Do you think they’re true, Mamá? Am I cracked? Damaged? If not, then what am I, Mamá? Because I’m certainly not the player, the man, that I thought I was.

I thought I was a good leader, but all I led my team to was humiliation. I thought I would make Spain proud, but all I’ve brought upon this country is disgrace. I thought I was a good son, but you must be ashamed to have me as part of your family. I thought I was a good father, but what kind of legacy am I leaving for my son?

I think this is it, Mamá. Time to hang up my boots. _The cracks in Iker Casillas suspected by Mourinho and Ancelotti have widened into fissures now._ So it’s time to give up before I crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to do five letters, but I don't have a fifth player in mind. I know the next chapter will be Thorgan Hazard, but if anyone has any ideas/requests for the last player just let me know :)


End file.
